


Elegant

by helvel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Facial Shaving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26478007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: "You're a man of refined style, Mister Escuella, that much is obvious. That's why I'm willing to believe you're up to this challenge. Get John cleaned up a bit - not just dressed, but well-dressed. Make him look like a gentleman."
Relationships: Javier Escuella/John Marston
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Elegant

**Author's Note:**

> Just something fun and cute! 
> 
> Title is of course from John's [Elegant Suit](https://reddead.fandom.com/wiki/Elegant_Suit) :)

A long time ago, Dutch van der Linde discovered that if he talked for long enough, people would do exactly what he wanted them to do. The man outside the Rhodes saloon would soon be proof of that. The tight-lipped old fool told Dutch where to stick it at first, but carefully applied charm had the man offering his name (Cornelius Wilmot) and then his affiliation (the Braithwaite family) and then the prospect of a lead.

Like an oyster waiting to be cracked, Dutch had his knife at nearly the right angle now, and it would take just a bit more pressure to get to the pearl inside.

"It sounds like there will be some _important people_ at this party that you mentioned," Dutch said, making it very clear he considered Wilmot to be a person of such importance. Flattery always worked on idiots. "If you'll allow my son and I to accompany you-"

"That feller is your son?"

Dutch didn't take well to being interrupted, but he followed Wilmot's gaze across the street. John waited there with their horses, leaned against a fence as he smoked through a pack of cigarettes.

"You'll need to ask his mother about that," Dutch said with a chuckle. The joke was lost on the old man as he continued to peer at John. 

"Can't say I much believe you, Mister Macintosh. You nearly look like a gentleman, but that one there looks like a cowboy. Or an outlaw." Wilmot spat on the ground. "He's your son far as I'm your uncle, and if you aspect me to believe that, I got to wonder what other lies you're telling me."

A drop of sweat beaded under the brim of Dutch's hat. He had to do something, fast, before Wilmot's tentative offer dried up entirely. 

"He cleans up well. You'll see him at the party tonight as a completely different man. And you can introduce us to your friend, ah, Mister Gareth Braithwaite was it?"

It was. Wilmot was the foot-in-the-door Dutch needed to get close to that family, and that relied on the old man's trust.

"We'll see." Wilmot spat again and shuffled back into the saloon.

On the other side of the street, John handed over The Count's reins. "Any luck?" he asked, voice hoarser than usual from the five or so cigarette butts littering the ground around him.

Dutch mounted up. "These fellers are holding a party tonight. You and me will be going as Macintosh and Sons, oil investors."

John grumbled to himself. "Christ, not more play-acting. But if you think it will work…"

"Of course it will." Dutch led them out of town, back towards Clemens Point. He cast a look over at John as they rode. "Wear your suit tonight."

With a grumbled agreement, John lit up another cigarette.

Folk always assumed John was Dutch's son, even without Dutch making the suggestion. They had the same dark hair, dark eyes, proudly set shoulders. The more folk believed it, the more believable it became, until that old man had thought to question it for the first time

It must be the scars. They did add a certain roughness to John's appearance that wasn't there before. Yet the more Dutch looked at John, the less he could blame the scars. John's dusty clothes were stained up to the knee - not just Lemoyne's red dirt, but the chalky brown leftover from their time in the Heartlands as well. His hair fell in his face, and his beard was long and unkempt. Even his horse was badly in need of a brushing-down.

Maybe Dutch understood where old Wilmot was coming from.

"You'll have to get your boots cleaned up before tonight," Dutch told John, "and comb your hair."

John's shoulders hunched up. "Alright, fine, I'm not a kid."

"I need you looking your best. This Wilmot is going to get us in with the Braithwaite family. And he's already suspicious about us. Thinks you look too much like an outlaw."

"Then why don't I save both of us the trouble, and you can go without me. Bring Hosea instead, the two of you can have a grand old time acting like oil barons."

"I can't bring in someone new, not when I need to win his trust." The thought of going to the party alone briefly crossed Dutch's mind, but he dismissed it soon as it came. He wasn't going anywhere without someone to have his back. "Just try to look respectable. You might have fun, even."

They hitched their horses at the edge of camp. John slunk off towards his tent, and Dutch sighed to himself. If this was to be done right, he'd need to bring in reinforcements _._

No one wielded a scrub brush and bucket more effectively than Susan. She could single-handedly transform a man from squalor to squeaky-clean, and had done so to most of the men in their camp. It was never a pleasant experience, far as Dutch gathered. The only thing worse than bringing a dirty, dusty John to the party would be bringing him when he was as ill-tempered as a wet cat after a scrubbing.

Asking one of the other girls might have a better effect, but it ran the danger of Abigail's ire, which would bring out that same ill-temper in John that Dutch wanted to avoid. But what else could they do? Could they risk stopping at the Rhodes bathhouse before the party?

Dutch squinted as a bright light nearly blinded him. He raised a hand to shade his eyes. Sunlight glinted off the shiny golden toecap of a boot, polished to perfection and adorning the foot of Javier Escuella.

While the Lemoyne heat had everyone else sweating through their clothes and wilting like dead flowers, Javier all but glowed in the sun. Well-dressed as ever, he sat by the fire as he idly strummed a soft song.

A plan was taking shape in Dutch's mind. What if it was possible to not only get John dressed like a gentleman, but to leave him in an agreeable temper too? The Spanish expletives coming from John's tent last night told Dutch there was just such a man to make that happen.

Dutch settled down on the log bench across from Javier, fixing him with a look.

"Mister Escuella," he said, "I've got a job for you."

Javier lifted his head, tucking a strand of gleaming hair behind his ear. "Sure, boss. What do you need?"

* * *

In John's tent, Javier examined the suit laid out on John's cot. Black pants and jacket, a grey pinstripe vest, a shirt in dire need of starching. They were in better condition than the dusty clothes John currently wore, which wasn't saying much.

"Which boots are you going to wear tonight?" Javier asked.

John stuck out his foot to show off a scuffed and dust-caked boot. He shrunk back at the withering glare it earned him. "There ain't anything wrong with these! No one is going to be looking at my boots, anyway."

"Someone might look at you like this." Javier gave John a once-over, taking in the wide shoulders and narrow hips and long, lean legs, before returning to John's face. "What will you say then?"

John grinned and took a step closer. "I'll say, I got a feller who will carve you up with a knife if you do that again."

He laid a hand over the hilt of Javier's knife, tantalizingly close to the front of Javier's pants. Javier had to suppress a shiver. He couldn't get distracted…

"What about a tie?" Javier asked, returning to the suit, "Do you have a tie?"

John searched through his trunk half-heartedly, before giving up with a shrug. "Don't really need one, I suppose."

This was going to be more difficult than Javier thought. "I'll get you one of mine. You get dressed in that suit." Ducking out of the tent, Javier crossed camp to his own tent by the fire.

Despite his efforts to avoid it, Sean stirred from a nap beside the fire and squinted up at him, red-faced from heat and whiskey.

"Back so soon?" he asked, looking between Javier and John's tent. "Heh. Minute man Escuella!"

"You don't got any bragging rights there, cabrón." Only Sean would try an insult with something he was famously bad at, himself. Javier ignored him as he prattled on, gathering up what he needed, until Sean spotted one of the objects in his hands.

"Is that a _shaving kit_ I see?" Sean let out a low whistle. "Can't wait to see Marston's new look. Long as it's somewhere _decent_ he's shaving." Laughing at his own joke, Sean went silent abruptly as Javier drew the straight razor from his kit. The long blade glinted in the light when Javier flicked it open. "Easy now, I was only joking!"

"Joke with your mouth shut next time." Javier left him in stunned silence as he returned to John's tent.

"Purple?" John asked with disgust when he saw the tie. "You don't got… I don't know… black, or something?"

He'd changed into the suit pants and shirt, his previous clothes discarded in a crumpled pile on the ground. Javier looped the tie around his neck.

"Purple will suit you." It did suit him, complementing the rest of the outfit perfectly as Javier tied the knot and slid it up to the shirt collar. Adding the vest and jacket improved the look further, and once his boots were brushed clean, the look was complete - almost. Javier took the gold-chained pocket watch he'd retrieved and clipped it to John's vest, flicking it open.

"Plenty of time left for a shave," he said.

John groaned. "No shaving. Hurts too much with all this." He waved a hand over his facial scars, still red and tender.

"You just need a steadier hand. Like mine." Javier drew out the razor again. He lifted his gaze from the blade to meet John's eyes. He was famous for that look. It silenced John as effectively as it did to Sean, but the rapt, open-mouthed stare on John's face was an entirely different type of reaction. Javier grinned. "Leave it to me."

John did as he was told, stretching out on the boar-skin rug with his arms behind his head while Javier mixed the shaving cream. The first touch of the brush made John wince, expecting pain, but the tension left his body a moment later.

"Damn… that feels pretty good, actually." His eyes fluttered shut as Javier brushed the foam onto his face.

Javier picked up the razor again, admiring the sharp edge. A blade was such an elegant thing. Any fool could use one, but it took finesse to do it right, equally for a gentle touch as the kind that hurt the most.

"You, uh, you get this look, you know?" John swallowed. "It's… scary or hot, I can't decide."

Javier smiled down at him. "Just relax."

He knew John's scars well, their location and which spots were most tender. Working carefully around them, Javier scraped the hair away bit by bit. He could feel John watching him throughout. When he sat back with John's face clean-shaven, he laughed to find the trepidation replaced with something far headier.

"Seriously?" he laughed. The straining fabric at the front of John's pants said it all. John sat up, taking hold of Javier's cravat to draw him close.

"I meant it. Scary-hot." His breath ghosted over Javier's lips before he pressed their mouths together, a nearly forgotten sensation of John's clean-shaven face against Javier's own. Groaning, John rolled his hips up. "We, uh, got time for anything else?"

Javier slipped the pocket watch from John's vest and flipped it open, considering.

Dutch's words from earlier returned to him: " _You're a man of refined style, Mister Escuella, that much is obvious. That's why I'm willing to believe you're up to this challenge. Get him cleaned up a bit - not just dressed, but well-dressed. Make him look like a gentleman._ "

Javier had certainly done that, but a new idea was forming in his head, something on his mind long before Dutch's request.

"Yeah. But not here." He returned the watch and pushed John back, getting to his feet. "Follow me out in a few minutes?"

"No way. You want me to go out there like _this?_ " John motioned to the prominent bulge at the front of his suit pants.

With a sly smile, Javier slipped out of the tent.

Outside, Javier crossed camp without drawing any attention, finding that the idiot MacGuire had passed out again. He continued on towards the edge of the lake, a sheltered inlet that had become a favorite spot of the few gang members who bathed regularly.

The afternoon sun sparkled off the clear water invitingly. Javier set his hat on the smooth rock on the shore, followed by his vest and cravat. By the time the rustling trees signaled John's arrival, Javier was enjoying the warm sun on his bare skin while water lapped around his knees.

"What took you so long?" Javier called out. He glanced back over his shoulder. "… John?"

"I, uh… took the long way around." John shifted uncomfortably. If he had any luck with disguising his erection, the efforts were now in vain, with the prominent bulge in his pants returned at the sight before him. He watched Javier, captivated, and Javier smiled.

"Come on in and join me, John. The water feels nice."

John was shrugging out of his suit jacket before Javier finished talking. John didn't much like water, but with an attractive naked man waiting for him, he had no complaints. In fact, Javier was the only one with complaints as John dropped his jacket on the ground.

" _Idiota!_ What are you doing?" Javier pointed to where his own clothes were carefully laid out on the clean rock. "Put it there."

John brushed off the jacket and laid it on the rock with exaggerated care. "Happy now?"

Javier shook his head with disbelief. "Fine clothes like those deserve some respect."

"I ain't a fancy dresser like you." John stripped out of his clothes with much more haste than he put them on, barely getting them onto the rock before he stepped into the lake. The sound of water sloshing around his calves grew louder as he came up behind Javier. "Though I got to say… this right here is the best look for you."

His lips ghosted against Javier's neck with the words while his hands came around to rest on Javier's stomach, already slippery with apricot-scented soap. Javier turned in his arms so their bodies pressed together. Elegant as John looked in the suit, Javier much preferred him like this. Wiry muscle wrapped over long limbs, skin tanned from stolen moments like these in the Lemoyne sun, warm and delectable under Javier's tongue.

Waves lapped against them as they settled down into the water. John squirmed as Javier ran the soap over him. John was always so responsive to touch, like an instrument under Javier's fingers rising up to meet him at every note. His stomach jumped at a caress that bordered on ticklish, then his head fell back with a low groan as Javier took his cock in hand.

"Shit," John panted, "That feels good… I know, uh, I know Dutch put you up to this to get me cleaned up for tonight, but I didn't expect to enjoy it so much."

Javier gave John a squeeze that made him gasp. "Two things. One - don't say Dutch's name while your cock is in my hand." Javier leaned in until their lips brushed together. "And two - this part is all my idea. There's something I want to try…"

After lingering over the jutting hip bones, Javier stroked over John's ass, sliding between his cheeks and making him writhe.

"Do it. Come on!"

John pressed back against his fingers, but Javier didn't give him what he wanted, just teased him with gentle touches until John was cursing. What sweet music John made… His raspy whimpers turned to a desperate groan as Javier moved his hand away.

"Dammit Javier, don't stop-"

"Turn over now, cariño."

John scrambled in the water to get to his knees, arms resting against a smooth rock as he bent forward. Javier took a moment just to admire him like that, glistening skin on display as he looked back over his shoulder, skinny ass upturned and waiting, eyes dark with hunger.

"Come on. Fuck me." John's body hummed with tension as Javier took him by the hips. "Javier! Please, I need it, please, just fuck me already! What the Hell are you waiting for?"

Javier smiled. "For you to ask so prettily like that."

He bent his head to press his tongue to John's hole, and John screamed.

* * *

"I got the horses cleaned up just like you asked, Mister Van der Linde!"

The Count and Old Boy stood ready at the edge of camp, coats gleaming like the freshly polished saddles on their backs. Dutch had to admit, the O'Driscoll boy kept their horses well. The boy looked nearly proud of the work he'd done, if not for the fact that he was trembling like a leaf.

"What's the matter with you, O'Driscoll?" Dutch asked him, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"N-nothing! Nothing at all, sir!"

Dutch narrowed his eyes. "I don't take kindly to liars."

The boy squeaked as he curled in on himself. He stared down at his wringing hands.

"I, I saw…" He swallowed thickly. "After I finished with the horses, I went down to the water…"

"Trying to run away to Colm, were you?"

The boy jumped like he'd sat on a needle. "No, no sir! I was just fishing! Only, before I got my line out, I heard a scream…" He lifted his head, face pale with horror. "I saw them there, in the water… they was…"

At the sound of crunching gravel, the boy's eyes went from his own hands to the pair of polished boots up to John's face as he came up beside them.

Yelping, the O'Driscoll took off into the trees. Dutch shook his head, then turned his attention to John and let out a whistle.

"Look at you, son! I could almost believe you're a real gentleman."

Dressed in a suit with his hair combed back into a low ponytail, John looked like a completely different person than the road-dusty outlaw from that morning. The purple tie was a particularly nice touch. That was Javier's choice, Dutch was sure. Dutch had been right to put this in his hands.

John just nodded with a dazed smile. Dutch clapped his shoulder.

"Ready to go con some rich folk?"

They saddled up and headed off towards Rhodes. The sun dipped low in the sky as evening fell, casting the countryside orange and pink. A beautiful night for Dutch's plans to fall into place.

"This feller in town is going to introduce us to Gareth Braithwaite, part of these two feuding families around here. He's our opening to get at all of that gold they have hidden away. Now remember, we're oil investors. Do you want to take the first step approaching him, or should I?"

He glanced over at John. John really did look like a respectable investor, all cleaned-up and well-dressed. The only problem was that John still wore that same dazed smile.

" _John,_ " Dutch said, snapping his fingers, "You with me?"

John startled slightly, turning to Dutch. "Huh? Uh, yeah." He blinked slowly. "What?"

Dutch frowned, while John's dopey smile remained. "Maybe let me do the talking at this party."

The ride into town should give him enough time to reshape his plans for the evening, taking into account that John's head was in the clouds and seemed likely to remain there for the indeterminate future. Javier was one of Dutch's most loyal and reliable men, but there was something to be said about doing a job too well.


End file.
